Stranger
by Mrs.BangThomas
Summary: They know how they got to where they are today, they hate it. And each other, well...kind of. Implied Gelphie. Glinda/ObviousButUnnamedMan. Post Musical. Awesome. Recently revised.


Disclaimer: No, I don't own Wicked. The book, the musical, the merchandise, the genious...nothing. Happy? I'm not...oh well. I also don't own Hilary Duff, her body, mind (thought that might not be so bad), singing talents (jealious much?), her songs (yes this one-shot is based on Stranger) or a giant house and lots of money and promotional opportunties and fans :D

A/N: This is not what I expected my first fanfiction to be, I had thought it was the multichaptered Gelphie plot bunny I'm tinkering with, seeing as I think Gelphie is the best fan pairing ever! Instead we get...this. Whatever this is...I'm not even sure. Based slightly on "Stranger" by Hilary Duff. Implied Gelphie, and that's what is important.

I think it's obvious, but cookie's (just let me know what your fav's are) for whoever tells me who the Glinda's male co-star is in this fic.

* * *

He was waiting for her in the den.

Their favourite place in the entire house, to be together, and to be alone…the room was draped simply but luxuriously. A red and beige Ixian carpet graced the middle of the Quoxwood floor, while the walls shone blood red, graced with overfull bookshelves and rare Ozians silk hangings inherited from Glinda's grandparents. A large stone fireplace roared in the far right corner of the room while a well-polished grand piano graced the left. Other musical instruments found places on the walls, the shelves, or propped up on holders. Plush couches of dark brown leather and a small tables and benches made of Quoxwood graced the sitting area, and fresh lilies were placed in the elegant vases every day.

He had been seated, feet up on the end table, in his favourite chair by the fire.

He rose as she sighed and stared at him, "They never believe when I tell them that you're out of your mind." There was no anger in her voice, it was a tired accusation, full of resignation.

He smirked. "They never have, my sweet."

"Don't call me that!" Her eyes flashed, glinting with sudden fire, "how many times…" That stupid smirk never fell from his lips and her passion fell as quickly as it had been risen.

"For her, I never said anything because of her. It was our little secret but …now, nobody believes me when I try to tell them…." She hated that look, the all-knowing look plastered like a mask on his boyish face. "How do you manage it? Why doesn't the meer thought of them harden your heart as it does mine? There are too many things so keep it all hidden for so long...there must be."

He reached her, finally, and took her into his arms. "I can only say that I have had years of practice, sweetheart. You simply lack in this particular talent." Her hands crept across his shoulders and up his neck, locking behind it as he continued. She was aware that the soothing tone he uttered served only his own humour. "I know how it vexes you so, please by all means, continue to let it weigh on your mind. I don't mind. Sanity has never quite suited your pretty face anyway. "

He grabbed her hips, pulling her closer. "I envy you at times my dear, your heart bleeds for every poor creature, deserving or not. As crazy as they drive you, you much enjoy such pain, for you have always been rather taken with lost causes." She knew of whom he spoke.

"Like you?" She fired back, pulling away to glare.

"Like me, complete bastard that I am."

"I suppose," she admitted burying her head into the crook of his neck. He cradled her in his thin arms. She inhaled his bitter scent, the metallic and rusty sent clinging to his flesh even after so much time, and it soothed her heart.

"You are a bastard."

"At least I can admit it my sweet. You could do well to learn from it." She glared at him but he was unapologetic. "I treat you like a queen when we go out…"

"As you should, because I am."

"Hush, I like to show the world what our love is about…" He continued to list his faults through her biting comments, admitting his bitter heart and vocalizing his wife's grievances against him.

"Hurt, guilt, mental instability…did I miss anything darling? Resentment, anger?" Such words sounded like the worst sort of profantiy, but only when they came from her.

"I'm all wrapped up in you whenever there is a crowd, but when no one's around…" her resentment hit him harder than anything else, because it matched his own in intensity. And what right?! He felt a familiar fury rising and clawing at his chest, and his calm slowly bled dry.

What right did she have to be resentful, of anything? But his words revealed her thoughts, he never was quite the same in private than at one of his wife's public events. "There's no kindness in my eyes…" his hot breath hit her neck and sent a shiver down her spine.

She stiffened with a small amount of fear and whimpered again his neck, "The way you look at me is just not right…" she hated that he could frighten her, though she had become used to the feeling. She could remember the way he used to look at her, with such innocent devotion. She could remember a time when his brown eyes warmed her.

She longed to taste again, for just a brief moment, such unconditional love .

"Stranger…" She accused again, and again he did not deny his awareness. "You're not the person that I one knew…" He broke their embrace and moved one arm upwards to clasp her pale finger's with his own darker, stubbier ones. Both disapproved of the contrast.

She wanted to cry, as always when they reached this point, he changed their focus and lead her in a music-less dance. He loved to do that, to shove both their failures in her face this way.

On their wedding night, they had danced without music.

They had waltzed the steps, space inexistent between them…but what should have been inspired and accompanied by a passionate stream of music, was left to silence.

This was how it had been ever since, whenever he felt the need to re-assert himself over her, and she hated it because it reminded her of this failed union. She could not bring herself to call it marriage, for it was far too honest to carry such sacred meaning. Every feeling between them was known and shared with the other.

Every bitter smile, hateful thought, or frightened movement…there was never any space between them and they hated it. They felt the other's hurt as their own and resented it. They were stranger's in knowing each other.

So with that accusation…"Stranger," he continued the music-less dance they knew so well. They whirled slowly around the furniture. How far would she be able to push this time?

There were moments of course, found in the mundane actions of everyday life, that let them find something resembling comfort. Such feelings were never handled well by either and continued to be well ingnored. Still there were times when it was awknowledge...this ...something that existed between happiness and comfort, but could not quite be labeled as either.

"Are you scared to let them know, it's you?"

His grip on her waist and hand tightened painfully, a silent warning. He began to turn them faster, twist their bodies together, eliminating any space between them once again.

"We, my sweet, we are not the people we once knew, and WE are scared to let them know…do not ask stupid questions." She attempted with withdraw, stung by such heartfelt conviction, not the reprimand.

His grip became iron, and she knew there would be finger shaped bruises in the mirror the next morning, perhaps tonight if he continued to increase the pressure. Yes, she knew now as she barred a whimper of pain escaping her lips. The cost for her inquisitiveness would be visible tonight. She no longer understood the man across from her, though she knew him well, and she would never admit it.

For that would be admitting her own weakness.

Her own loneliness. Such cruely...she felt betrayed by him. He had failed to live up to her standards. This was not what she had wanted so long ago, and though she craved it now, it grew as a great part of her bitter attidude towards him. She blamed him.

"Did I ever do anything that was this cruel to you?" She spat, as his eyes darkened. He began to step faster, whirling him around her in a flutter of delicate red material and blond curls.

"Every day, since the day I met you, felt longer and harder…" she had already known the answer to this question and that knowledge angered him. She was pushing hard, knowing what the results would be. She then asked something never before voiced, in all their fifteen years of marriage.

"Did I ever make you wonder who was standing in the room?" She really did want to know the answer to this, and his fury peaked. They reached the western wall and he slammed her against it as hard as he could. This time he was rewarded with a yelp and moan of pain. Good, she deserved to feel the sore spot she had wittingly poked at.

Satisfaction flooded his body. His hand began to run over her bodice, rough and calloused, as he gave the answer she sought. "Did you ever make me wonder who was in the room? No, and I hate it. I hate that you've become so unchangeable…ever since SHE came along. She twisted you, turned you inside out…I had a chance before she came along! A real chance! Not whatever the fuck this is!" He dug the tips of his fingers painfully into her breasts and she thanked her tailor silently for the slightly padded material.

He was truly pissed now, as he recalled his losses. He raked sharp nails up the material of her dress to mar the smooth skin of her chest and neck. He trailed them down her bared arms and was pleased with the angry red lines that trailed in his wake. He was determined that all his insecurities and shortcomings be found in his wife as well.

He would make them the equals they were always meant to be.

She was a Queen, technically his Queen, and he owed his allegiance to her. He had been nothing, not even human until she reversed her lover's wicked spell...and demanded he apologize for his hate towards the gree woman.

He hated that, he hated that his wife could forgive her ex-lover for destorying his life without a second thought and continue down her path to luxury and adoration without a second thought, but hold such negative feelings towards him. And for, in his mind, far less transgressions. He hated that she condoned such wickedness in that woman.

He pressed her body to his, pulling at her dress.

He hated that she condoned such wickedness in himself, but she sought it, for in wickedness he reminded the Queen of HER. He hated that too, what a fool he had been, to think that being heartless was such a crime and regretted returning to his human state. In the past he had wished to feel nothing rather than what gnawed at his poor heart now…such wickedness.

"You made yourself look perfect in every way, so if this gets out, I'm the one who will be blamed…" She looked so perfect to everyone else. A pretty blond doll, always to be adored, never to be harmed...to harm such beauty was sacriligious to Ozians.

He almost felt privileged to know her flaws so personally.

He sneered at her as he denied her the comfort of removing her dress completely. "But I'll never let you walk away…" she knew it and he knew it. Having her…it was his constant obsession, even now that she was his, even after all the hurt they caused each other.

He was afraid, even now, that she would be taken away from him. But not that she would be taken away by just anyone, oh no, his girl didn't even have the decency to be easy.

It was something he was almost proud of her for, for warmed his heart the tiniest bit.

For the only person who could take her from him was a dead woman. How could he fear a dead woman? Husband and wife both knew the answer to that. The water...never really did make sence did it? The lie such thinking revealed damaged them both even more.

He hated that all of this, their fighting, his jealousy…turned him on.

"Darling, you may wish to remove your pants first. I hear it's more enjoyable that way."

He growled at her insolence, enjoying it, "Really my dear? Well, Queeny always knows best doesn't she?" That she could always forgive him, for she mocked her own title.

He hated that his own wickness turned HER on, just because it was a reminder of her dead lover.

He realized that he hated more than was probably healthy as his wife pulled down his trousers for him, and it only served to lower his sense of self worth with the pants. A descent man wouldn't be so angry, or so cruel towards wife. But then, he supposed, he still didn't consider himself a man, and his wicked thoughts returned.

"Glinda…oh my sweet…" Her delicate little tongue darted out to tease his rationality.

She raked him warningly with her teeth, "Don't call me that!" She growled as he ripped her head away from him, seething in pain.

"You little bitch!"

Her fear had dissipated, but not a shred of anticipation vibrated in her body as her husband grabbed her and pushed her down on the floor and ripping her expensive skirts just to piss her off. She glared at him as he paused a minute to gently tare every ruffle and pouf off as she watched.

"Just be aware," She stated calmly, "That I have sent the maids home for the night, you might want to check your tea before bed tonight. One of the guards mentioned that some of the new imports were accidentally mixed with Nightshade."

He frowned, "Wasn't that the new import from Ev? The gift from King Naveah?"

"Quite, we weren't sure which ones were which and didn't want to insult Naveah by sending it back. You will be expected to drink it regardless when he comes to visit next month."

He welcomed the open threat, to them, it was a cherished game. His eyes glinted with something akin to childish joy, and become more aroused.

Glinda knew what to expect, it was never mind blowing, but enjoyable. It was all she deserved, for all she had done. He was what she deserved for destorying hims and poor, tragic Nessa, and he deserved her for his act of murder…the murder of her cherished lover.

It was not that they could not learn to forgive, but it was silently agreed that they wouldn't.

Once again she breathed in his metallic, rusty scent…and he buried himself in her as they cried out together, finding something be not quite comfortable or enjoyable, but something they both ached for. Constantly they fought, blamed, and doubted. Each was at odds with the stranger's they found in place of their real selves.

They knew they would never find peace, that chance had long passed them bye.

Besides, they didn't deserve peace.

They deserved each other, that much at least was both known and understood.

They deserved and recieved in kind...a well-known stranger.

"There's no kindess in your eyes,  
the way you look at me is just not right.  
I can tell what's going on this time..."

"There's a stranger in my life."


End file.
